


A Sherlolly New Year

by GarudaDreamsOfRain



Category: Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlolly - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 10:02:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13211427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarudaDreamsOfRain/pseuds/GarudaDreamsOfRain
Summary: A fluffy mess in the vein of a Tiger Beat Dream Date article, Sherlocked.





	A Sherlolly New Year

**Author's Note:**

> The timeline on this is a bit wonky and doesn’t fit canon, but it’s supposed to take place shortly after The Final Problem.

“Molly,” Sherlock began, mindlessly fiddling with a graduated cylinder. “What are you doing Friday next for New Years?” He wandered closer to her in Bart’s lab.

“Umm,” she responded, expertly setting a cover slip in place on her slide. “Meena and I and a couple of other girls are going to a pub. Why?” Molly was having a difficult time keeping the suspicion out of her tone. He’d just dropped in and hadn’t even removed his coat. That usually meant he was going to hit her up for a favour. She was not going to give up her New Years for one of his stupid cases.

“Wouldn’t you rather spend it with me?” He utilized his gentlest smile and his deepest voice, knowing how it was likely to affect her. He locked eyes with her and took three slow steps forward until he was very close. Heart-stoppingly close. 

“Well, I kind of promised,” she hedged, looking up at him. She gripped the edge of the counter to steady herself. When he acted and looked this gorgeous she sometimes thought she might nearly implode. He wore his sexiness almost carelessly, with his tousled dark locks, the lean, spring-coiled grace of his body, and his steady, kind blue eyes. She could feel the warmth radiating from him because he was standing mere centimeters from her.

“Oh, Molly,” he breathed, with a beguiling smile. “You can get out of it, can’t you?” 

She swallowed. “Wh-why?” she squeaked.

“Because I’d rather spend mine with you. Just you and me, alone together. You’ve been so good to me, helping me countless times over the years, and I realized I’ve never thanked you properly. That is an error I’d like to rectify.”

“You…you don’t need to do that. I help you because we’re friends.”

“Yes, we are,” he said, leaning over and whispering into her ear. “But things have changed somewhat haven’t they? My sister…pushed me into admitting something to you. Something…personal. Something very...intimate.” His deep voice rumbled in her ear, making her stomach flip delightfully. “I’d like an opportunity to show you how much I appreciate your…friendship,” he continued. “Won’t you let me show you how deep my…regard is, Molly?” he said, murmuring her name like a caress whilst he softly stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers.

“Wha-what did you have in mind?” She was lost in his eyes, in his nearness, mesmerized by his magnetism. Of course she was going to agree. They both knew that.

“Oh, I’ll think of something,” he answered, casually, with a mysterious smile. “I’ll pick you up at 7:30.”

“O-okay,” she responded. “This isn’t for a case, then?” 

“No,” he said, hearing the trepidation in her voice. “Definitely not.” He smiled and winked and turned to leave, the Belstaff whirling around him dramatically. Molly wondered if he practiced that move when he was alone. He was very good at it.

“Sherlock, wait...um, what should I wear?” 

He turned back, his eyes raking her up and down. Molly suddenly felt exposed, and quivered under his intense scrutiny. A rush of heat swirled through her veins. “Mmm,” he rumbled. “I’ll send something appropriate. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything. I want you to relax and have a good time, Molly. Best you be home by six on the 31st.”

Molly couldn’t hold back her very pleased smile.

Promptly at six pm on New Year’s Eve there was a knock on Molly’s door. She opened it to find three young women carrying garment bags, makeup cases, and two dozen coral colored roses, arranged in a crystal vase. Molly inhaled their intoxicating perfume. The big, plump roses were so lovely she almost wanted to eat them.

“Coral roses mean desire,” one of the girls informed her with an impish grin, handing her a tiny envelope. Molly opened the card and smiled. _It’s always been you,_ was written in Sherlock’s strong, messy hand. Her heart in her mouth, she pressed the tiny card to her lips. Feeling her knees begin to shake, Molly sat down whilst the girls swarmed in and spread their sartorial bounty before her.

The girls began to dress Molly, fussing over her, fixing her hair and applying a light touch of make up which perfectly highlighted her large brown eyes and high, rosy cheekbones. The long, gold gown with a plunging neckline dripped with delicate beaded fringe and clung to her figure in all the right places. The design didn’t allow for a bra, and the rough, beaded material felt rather pleasurable against the sensitive peaks of her breasts. 

There were velvety black heels studded with tiny multi colored beads and a small gold clutch. Her hair was swept up into a loose chignon with a few tendrils escaping to emphasize her long, beautiful neck, and they fixed a scattering of small, individual pearls into her tresses. Long, delicate, sparkly earrings completed her look.

They finished moments before he was to arrive and left in a shower of good wishes and compliments. Molly went and had a look at herself in the full length mirror. I look beautiful, she thought with astonishment. She preened a little, feeling a trifle overwhelmed at the sumptuousness of her clothing, but also feeling prettier, more confident and certainly more desirable than she had in a long time. She smiled at her reflection. This was going to be a good evening.

There was a firm knock on her door. He was here! She flew to the door, opened it, and, without thinking, fell into his arms. His lips, warm and plush, met hers in a long-desired, delicious kiss. She felt a thrill of desire rush through her. At last. Breathless, she finally had to pull away. 

“Sherlock, this is all so beautiful. I…don’t know what to say. Thank you!”

“The evening hasn’t even started yet,” he replied, smiling. “If I’d known it was this easy to get a kiss out of you I would have sent you some clothes and flowers sooner. Would I have gotten the same reaction out of a Hard Rock Café t-shirt and a handful of daisies from the garden, I wonder?”

“No way,” she said, coyly. “I hold out for the good stuff.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. You look beautiful, Molly.” His eyes swept over her, pleased with her loveliness. “You clean up…well.” He smiled at his understatement, his eyes twinkling.

She laughed and pushed his shoulder playfully. “So do you,” she offered. He was wearing a black tuxedo with a white shirt, a wide black bow tie and a black cummerbund. He’d traded his Belstaff for a long black cashmere coat paired with a white opera scarf. His blue eyes were piercing. Molly bit her lip. She’d never seen him look so handsome; he took her breath away. “Do you want to come in for a drink? Do we have time?”

“We’d better get going. Our reservation is for eight, and if I come in we’ll never get there at all.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close, nuzzling her neck.

“Would that be so bad?” she countered, tilting her head to give him a better angle.

“Yes,” he responded, seriously. “I have lots of plans for us tonight, Molly. I want to show you off, wine and dine you, dance with you, kiss you,” his voice lowered, “and feel your warm body pressed against mine in the dark…” His arm snaked around her, low along her hips, his long, sensitive fingers caressing her behind.

She closed her eyes and moaned softly. “We’d better go, then,” she whispered, “before we forget ourselves entirely.”

He groaned with disappointment, but wrapped her fur stole around her shoulders, ushered her out to the waiting car and helped her settle in. With a word to the driver, the sleek black limo pulled away from the kerb and headed for Mayfair. It was clear and cold, and a few stars sparkled in the night sky. 

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“The Dorchester,” he responded.

“Oh my god,” she breathed. “That’s…legendary.”

“Yes, it is. Only the best for you, Molly. Are you warm enough?”

She nodded, but snuggled closer to him all the same, pleasantly lost in a romantic haze.

They arrived at the eastern edge of Hyde Park and were ushered into the Alain Ducasse dining room by a succession of attentive staff. They were seated in a private area, at the Table Lumiere, which was screened off from the rest of the restaurant by a tastefully shimmering curtain of fiber optic lights. As they sat, they could hear the pleasant murmurings of the other diners and enjoy the ambience of the room, but were cocooned together in their own intimate space. A server poured a Dom Perignon 2006. Light, bubbly, and refreshing, the champagne tasted like a dream.

“Are there no menus?” Molly whispered.

“It’s all taken care of,” Sherlock whispered back.

“But suppose I don’t like it? You know I’m picky about my food.”

Sherlock laughed. “Molly, this is one of the three best restaurants in London, and therefore the world. Your meal is being expertly prepared by a staff under the direction of a multiple Michelin starred chef, and is the absolute pinnacle of modern French cuisine. If you don’t like the food here, I’ll…divorce you.” He tried to control himself but a snort-laugh escaped him.

“You can’t,” she retorted. “You haven’t married me.”

“Yet,” he added, sliding his hand over to cover hers on the snowy tablecloth. Molly blushed and bit her lip.

The courses began. Each one was plated beautifully, small servings, just a few precious bites of the most delicious food Molly had ever eaten. Designed to satisfy but also leaving you wanting just one more nibble, perfectly balanced, rich but not filling, exquisitely layered flavors and textures, the courses played off each other and built in complexity throughout the meal. 

There was langoustine dressed with caviar, seared foie gras with black truffles, a lovely, delicate turbot cooked in white wine and onions, lobster with souffled potatoes and wild mushrooms, saddle of venison with roasted root vegetables, and a decadently rich farmhouse Vacherin cheese. This was followed by strong coffee, with tiny Mignardises and Gourmandises for dessert that looked like beautiful little jewels. Each course was accompanied by the perfect wine. 

Nearly two hours later, as Sherlock swirled his brandy, Molly popped one last dark chocolate into her mouth, patted her lips with her napkin, sat back in her chair and heaved a satisfied sigh. “That was amazing,” she said, with a relaxed smile. “I will never question you again.”

“Really?” he teased. “Never?”

“Well,” she laughed, “Not for at least…ten minutes.” She felt pleasantly sated and noticed a warm, sweet sensation humming through her blood. “Mmm,” she said, “a meal like this really gets the endorphins flowing, doesn’t it?”

“A good meal flows like a symphony,” he noted. “This was art. Now, do you want to go upstairs and freshen up, or stay here and dance?” Sherlock asked.

“What? What’s upstairs?”

“Our room.” He arched a suggestive eyebrow at her.

She gasped. “We’re staying here?”

“All weekend,” he answered smugly. “We have a terrific view over Hyde Park.”

“But…but…I can’t do that! What about Toby? What about work? Oh, my god, I have no clothes!”

“Didn’t I tell you I’d take care of everything? Not to worry? Your neighbor Pam is going to take care of Toby and he’ll probably get more treats than are good for him, which is something that might happen to you if you’re very, very good. I’ve spoken with Stamford and gotten you the weekend off. There is an ample wardrobe for you upstairs, which, if I had my wish, would consist of nothing at all.” He reached over and took both of her hands in his. “Everything is taken care of.”

Molly blushed again, and looked at him adoringly. “Oh, Sherlock,” she breathed, “this is so wonderful. I don’t know what to say.” She jumped up. “Yes, I do. Let’s go see our room!”

The room was indeed lovely. It was an eclectic suite, with a bright yellow bedroom that housed a sweet red and white striped chair and ottoman, a gigantic bed, floral trimmings and a cute little fireplace. The enormous sitting room had two large sofas, green, velvety and soft with red throw pillows, a thick carpet, and bowed French doors which opened out to the balcony overlooking the park. The bathroom was sleek and stylish.

“Sherlock! It’s perfect!” Molly squealed with delight, falling backwards into the sofa. “I love the yellow bedroom!”

“The minute I saw it I knew we had to stay here,” Sherlock said, leaning over her. “It’s very much like you, the mix of bright colors and patterns. The yellow reminded me of the outfit you wore to John’s wedding.” He kissed her, and then taking her hand, pulled her up and into a dance with music only they could hear. She wound her arms around his neck, and he wrapped his arms around her waist whilst they swayed together, clinging to each other in perfect bliss. He captured her lips with his own, and they stayed like that for a long time, dancing and slowly kissing, lost in the moment, enjoying the nearness of each other. Molly could feel his erection pressing against her thigh and she began to tingle, loving the feel of his desire for her.

“Mmm,” Sherlock eventually said. “What time is it? We have to go.” He nibbled on her ear.

“Go where?” she breathed, stroking the nape of his neck and twining that little curl around her fingers with one hand, whilst her other hand teased his nipple through his silk shirt.

“Off to see the fireworks. Down by the Thames,” he managed, his mouth and tongue busy exploring an exquisite spot he’d found, just under her ear.

“What?” she asked, not paying attention. 

“Fireworks.”

“Yes, you are,” she said dreamily. “I mean…what? We’re going to the fireworks?” She pushed him away from her, her hand lingering on his chest, and looked at him brightly. “I love fireworks!”

“We don’t have to go,” he responded, trying to pull her closer. “We could stay here. I’m sure we could dream up…something to do.” He nuzzled her throat.

“Sherlock Holmes, if you don’t stop pawing me and take me to the fireworks this instant, I’ll…I’ll…divorce you!”

“Why should we get married at all if we’re going to divorce so often?” He trailed a series of kisses along her collarbone. “That’s twice in one night and we haven’t even gotten married yet. Let’s just live together in sin.”

“That sounds great, especially the sin part, and let’s do that. Right after the fireworks.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Sherlock retrieved her fur wrap from the sofa and draped it around her shoulders. “It’s cold out,” he said. “And we’ll be walking a bit. Are you going to be okay in those shoes?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m better in heels than you might imagine. Sherlock…”

“Mmm?”

“Is this…real fur?”

“No,” he said. “Although I would have gotten that for you if you wanted. I deduced you wouldn’t like real fur. You have a kind heart, Molly, and the fur industry is figuratively, and literally, a beastly practice.”

She looked very pleased, sidled up to him and kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered. She grabbed a tissue, licked it, and took a moment to wipe her lipstick off his face.

He shied away. “Are you wiping my face with your spit?”

“You didn’t mind two minutes ago when your tongue was in my mouth.”

“That was…different,” he muttered. Molly laughed at his silliness, and after a quick think, Sherlock joined her.

They left the hotel, garnering a few admiring glances from other people in the lobby as they passed, the tall, dark detective and the beautiful, golden woman at his side. Getting into the hired car, Sherlock gave directions to the driver. “Victoria embankment, just south of Westminster pier,” he said. “You can get in along Derby Gate.”

“Parliament?” she questioned.

“There’s a little place there they set aside for…certain people,” he explained. “We’ll have the best view in London.” She smiled and tucked her arm through his.

It took a little maneuvering, but after exiting the car they finally slipped in to a private area with some benches set up facing the river. Molly couldn’t help gawping at some of the important people already assembled.

“Sherlock,” she asked, hurrying to keep up with his long legged stride. “Isn’t that the PM?”

“Where?”

“Over there.” Molly tried pointing with her chin and eyes. “I think it is.”

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” he said, dragging her along. “There’s no woman here worth looking at but you.” He found them a spot on one of the benches, right next to…Mycroft.

“Ah, brother mine,” Mycroft said, standing to greet them. “Happy New Year. I see you’re late as usual.” He extended his hand to Molly. “Dr. Hooper,” he nodded at her. “Happy New Year. I don’t believe you’ve met Anthea.” 

“Lovely to meet you,” Molly said to the pretty brunette who shook her hand and smiled. “I take it we have you to thank for these wonderful seats, Mr. Holmes?” she continued.

“It was my pleasure,” Mycroft answered. “I trust you’ve had a pleasant evening so far? Sherlock hasn’t been too much of an…animal?”

“He’s been a complete gentleman,” Molly asserted. “Our evening has been…perfect.” She blushed prettily, which Mycroft found charming. 

“He must not be feeling well,” Mycroft said, sarcastically. “Please, do sit. I hope you ladies are dressed warmly. It’s damnably cold tonight.”

“It feels wonderful,” Molly said, snuggling in close to Sherlock and tucking her arm through his. “It’s invigorating.” 

A few minutes later the fireworks began, and Molly sat in rapt attention, oohing and awing as they burst overhead in vivid colors and forms. Sherlock had his arm around her, and spent more time watching her than the fireworks, entranced by her joy and beauty. Mycroft watched his brother’s expression from the side of his eye. Sherlock was clearly smitten by the pretty pathologist. Mycroft smiled, happy for him, and turned his own attention to Anthea.

All too soon the show ended in a flurry of exploding, booming, showering lights, ushering in the New Year. Molly sighed with satisfaction and looked at Sherlock, her face shining. Everyone started singing Auld Lang Syne, and Sherlock pulled her into a passionate kiss right there, in front of Mycroft, the PM, and everyone. 

“Happy New Year, Molly Hooper,” he whispered against her lips. 

“Happy New Year, Sherlock,” she said. She pulled away, reluctantly, conscious of the amused glances being thrown their way by a good number of Britain’s ranking politicians, and pressed her forehead against his for a moment. Then they rose, bade farewell to Mycroft and Anthea, and wandered up the embankment beside the river, arm in arm. The air was thick with smoke off the river barges and smelled sharply of gunpowder. They strolled past Whitehall Gardens, and turned west towards Trafalgar Square. A fog was creeping in, and a few snowflakes began to drift around them, sparkling in the scattered lights of the street lamps. They could hear small bands of revelers shouting through the mist, welcoming a New Year, a new beginning. Molly felt like she was floating through a beautiful dreamscape. 

As they walked, Sherlock pointed out various places where murders or interesting deaths had occurred over the centuries. He talked easily and with enthusiasm about the ghoulish details, and Molly found herself fascinated by the stories, offering a few insights of her own to his conclusions. She paused for a moment by the Yard to flex her right foot, causing Sherlock to signal their car, which had been following at a discreet distance.

“I should have changed my shoes like you suggested,” she said. “I want to keep walking with you. All night.”

“We have lots of time for long walks, Molly,” he said, opening the limo door for her. They snuggled together in the back seat, Sherlock’s exploring hands under her wrap making her bite her lip so she wouldn’t moan too loudly. Desire stirring within her, she slid her hand along his inner thigh, causing a low rumble of pleasure to escape him. She moved her hand further up, lightly stroking his hardening length over his trousers.

Before things got too heated, they arrived back at The Dorchester and went up to their room. Molly flopped on the sofa and stretched out. Sherlock turned on a single lamp, casting the room in soft light, and sat next to her. He picked up her legs and put them in his lap.

“Shoes,” Molly ordered.

Obediently, he unbuckled the thin straps and removed them, taking her small feet in his large hands and started massaging her arches with strong, skillful fingers. Molly moaned with pleasure as his hands worked up her calf muscles, squeezing and rubbing them into relaxation. He bent her knee, causing her dress to ride up, and moved it over his shoulder, spreading her legs apart. He began to kiss the sensitive flesh above her inner knee whilst his hand slowly trailed higher up her thigh, lightly brushing his fingers against her lace covered mound, already a little damp from his gentle administrations. She arched her back and uttered a little mewl of pleasure.

“Sherlock?”

“Mmm,” he answered, his lips busy with her leg.

“I’m starving,” Molly declared. Sherlock stopped what he was doing, cocked an eyebrow at her, and sighed with annoyance. “Aren’t you hungry?” she continued. “Do they have room service? Let’s get room service.”

“Are you trying to kill me?” he grumbled. 

She laughed. “This from the man who prides himself on his iron-willed abstinence? Needy so soon after a few flirty kisses from a shy pathologist?”

“You just wait,” he glowered. “I’m going to make sure you’re not able to walk for the rest of the weekend.”

“Promise?” she teased, her eyes glowing with anticipation.

Sherlock stalked over to the phone and ordered a huge quantity of assorted nibbles. Returning to the sofa, he shed his tuxedo jacket and removed his cuff links. He slowly laid down on top of her, pushing a pillow behind her and stretching her arms above her head, holding her wrists together over the edge of the sofa so her body was arched against his. He began to kiss her deeply, passionately, hungrily. He slotted his thigh between hers and pushed that hard muscle against her centre, causing her to gasp against his mouth. He kissed his way down her chest, between her breasts, his hand slipping underneath the edge of her neckline to play with her breast, pinching and twisting her nipple until she cried out with pleasure.

He threaded his fingers into her silky hair. “Ow!” He complained. “What are these sticks in your hair?” 

“Jewelry,” she responded. “Tiny pearls, designed to captivate a man’s eye. You liked them well enough earlier when they were glowing in the moonlight.”

“Well, they’ve got to come out. It’s like you’ve got razor blades in there.” He began to undo her hair, combing it with his fingers, and letting it spill down around her shoulders. “Beautiful,” he breathed, burying his face in her sweet scented locks.

There was a knock at the door. “Room service.”

“I’ll get it,” Molly said, sliding out from underneath him and running lightly to the door. “On the table please,” she instructed, following the cart and beginning to load up a plate almost before the food was on the table. The server let himself out, hanging the Do Not Disturb sign on the door with a smile as he left. 

Molly finished arranging her plate, crossed over to the sofa where Sherlock sat, put her knees on the sofa, straddling his thighs, and tucked a morsel of puff pastry and smoked salmon into his mouth. She followed that up with a lingering kiss. They alternated feeding and kissing each other whilst Molly continued to straddle him, grinding her hips against him whilst his hands caressed her thighs and bum under her gown. She unbuttoned his dress shirt, exposing his chest to her warm, curious fingers. She kissed her way down his neck to his pulse point and lightly twisted one of his nipples, immediately cooling it after with her lips and tongue. She could feel his need straining against her. She wanted to feel him filling her, stretching her. She lightly raked her fingernails down his chest and devoured his mouth with her own, moaning.

“God, Molly! Enough,” he growled, panting. Standing up, supporting her in his arms, he headed towards the bedroom. He dropped her on the bed, pulled off her dress, and began to shed his own clothes. Molly helped, and when they were done with him, he slipped off her panties and looked at her laying beneath him. She was warm and ready for him. Sherlock thought he’d never seen anything so beautiful as his Molly, waiting for him, wanting to join with him.

She spread her legs and wrapped her arms around him, holding him close to her heart. Seven long years of waiting, wanting, yearning, and longing finally came to an end as he entered her. She moaned, moving against him, reveling in the sweetness of him inside her. She unfolded for him like a flower, holding him, stroking his neck and back tenderly, and feeling his body tremble against her. Moving slowly, rolling her hips gently, Molly gave him time to become accustomed to the intimate sensations.

Sherlock groaned and laced his fingers with hers. She felt so tight surrounding him, sheathing him perfectly. He closed his eyes and struggled for control, his overwhelming need for her threatening to bring a hasty conclusion to their love making.

“Look at me, Sherlock,” Molly whispered, cupping his cheek with her hand. He opened his eyes and gazed into her understanding face. The love and kindness he saw there immediately relaxed him. “I love you,” she said, softly. 

He smiled at her. “I love you,” he said. He bent to kiss her and began to move again, slowly at first, and then with growing urgency. They soon found their rhythm, moving together in the oldest dance, taking and giving to each other, letting their hearts mingle and flow into a rushing stream of desire.

Molly felt herself overflow, and the tight ball of need and want within her began to expand, culminating in an explosion of joy. Sherlock soon followed her, and collapsed on top of her, sated and spent. After a few moments he started to withdraw, but she stopped him simply by locking her legs together behind him.

“Stay in me, Sherlock,” she whispered. “I want you to feel you inside me for a little while.” He dropped his head onto her shoulder, pressed a kiss to the curve of her throat, and was soon asleep. Molly stayed awake, content to hold him in her arms and run her fingers through his hair, feeling his deep, even breathing beside her, and imprinting this moment on her memory forever. She was finally with the man she loved, in every way there could be that was meaningful and good. She eventually, too, fell asleep, wrapped around her lover, at peace and filled with a blissful promise for the new year ahead.  
 


End file.
